The 72nd Hunger Games: Trifecta
by Inviso
Summary: The stories of three Tributes in the 72nd Hunger Games told simultaneously from their perspectives, from their initial Reaping to fighting in the Arena and beyond. Sumara Khan, the dominant Career Tribute from District 2. Ash Maxwell, the personable survivalist from District 7. And Grace Davinora, the blind underdog from District 8.
1. District 2: Sumara Khan

"Anita Winstoll!"

Mallaam Tullpinger leaned forward, resting the red leather elbow-padding of his black suit jacket on the podium and casting his gaze out over the hefty sea of hardened female faces staring up at him from the right side of District 2's central plaza. He brought his hands together, palms spaced apart by several inches as his index fingers tented themselves over his nose, reaching a point between the two red diamonds of make-up painted over his eyes. But he didn't even have the opportunity to get comfortable, as a flash of movement emerged from within the crowd.

Her blonde ponytail bounced up and down as Anita's small frame jostled and elbowed her way through the crowd, moving directly towards the stage, rather than towards the aisle, where Peacekeepers were prepared to escort her along the way. Several sets of eyes narrowed with disdain as Anita pushed her way through body after body, gritting her teeth with a fiery determination and even shooting back a few icy stares of her own in retaliation to the girls who made an effort to block her path.

Standing at the back of the crowd, Sumara Khan pursed her lips and crossed her arms over her chest as she watched Anita's wake move through the crowd, occasionally catching a glimpse of blonde hair as another girl edged sideways to allow for passage. The thick sole of her shoe tapped steadily in the dirt, impatiently waiting for the chosen Tribute to reach the stage and move the ceremony along to the part that Sumara, and dozens of other girls throughout the district, eagerly awaited. She hadn't donned an oversized, vomit yellow dress, her only formal attire, just to stand quietly in the crowd while the attention of Panem focused on another.

Anita reached the front of the crowd and was joined briefly by a pair of Peacekeepers, nonchalantly following the young blonde's eager footsteps as she moved to the stage and mounted the steps two at a time. Taking her place at Mallaam's side, she grinned out at the rest of the crowd, winking towards the cameras and pumping her fist triumphantly (a gesture which the entire District seemed to reciprocate in unison). Seated on-stage behind her, the pool of District 2's former victors smirked and nodded in approval, endorsing Anita's zeal, which brought a smile to Mallaam's lips as well before he spoke once more into the microphone.

"Anita Winstoll!" boomed Mallaam, his voice immediately drowned out by the thunderous applause of the District uniting as a singular entity. Eyes rolling, her mouth twisted into a bitter sneer, even Sumara (and the legion of equally jealous young women whose names hadn't emerged from the Reaping) cheered for the District's random pick. The Reaping, after all, brought untold glory to those chosen from District 2, trained from young ages to fight and to win in the Arena, whatever the Gamemakers made of it in any given year. The Hunger Games united the district in a way that nothing short of welcoming a returning Victor could do.

"Now," Mallaam spoke calmly, clearing his throat, "Which of you brave young ladies would like to volunteer for a shot at taking Miss Winstoll's place as District 2's female tribute this year?"

A chorus of voices rose up in response, crying out variations of 'I volunteer!' as hands shot into the air to make their presence known. On-stage, Anita's proud smile sunk as she looked out over the crowd, attempting to count the number of potential threats to her rightfully-earned choice as Tribute. Most of the competition stood towards the back of the fray, in the eldest section of girls, for whom the year would be their last chance to either enter the Arena, or avoid it entirely. Those seeking glory refused to pass up the opportunity, for fear of being viewed as weak or cowardly; volunteering served as a rite of passage for girls and boys alike in District 2, proving their worth to the community as a whole.

Sumara kept her hand raised high overhead as a battalion of Peacekeepers moved through the crowd, ushering volunteers into the open spaces leading towards the stage. Peeking back over her shoulder, she could see about a half-dozen girls moving behind her, several of whom towered over her, but she remained unfazed. They were not her true competition, as the volunteers would be randomly selected as in the initial stages of the Reaping; only the short blonde on-stage stood between her and a chance at immortality.

As the female volunteers found themselves herded together and sizing each other up while Peacekeepers asked for each of their names to be recorded on slips of paper for a secondary Reaping, Mallaam continued the ceremony, unwilling to waste time. He first questioned Anita, speaking into the microphone and allowing her to do the same so all those in attendance could hear her decision. Sumara spat out her name to the Peacekeeper in charge as Anita refused the volunteers' offers, earning scorn from the girls and blatant mock-surprise from Mallaam.

"You heard it, ladies and gentlemen," Mallaam announced, "Miss Winstoll refuses to step down, so whoever is chosen against her will have to EARN their spot as Tribute. While we wait for the names to be tallied, let us move on with the boys."

Sumara craned her neck around, trying to get an accurate count of the volunteers in an effort to judge her odds of being chosen. On-stage, Anita tapped her foot, irritated, as Mallaam crossed to the large bowl filled with light blue slips of paper, and jabbed his hand inside, fishing around for a few moments before removing a single name. He strode back to the podium and cleared his throat once more, noting the Peacekeepers' progress with the girls before unfolding the slip.

"Marcus Black!"

A boulder of a boy pushed his way through the sea of male tributes, letting out a loud whoop as he crashed into the aisle and charged towards the stage. In another district, the Peacekeepers would view this as a threatening gesture and would be forced to pacify the chosen Tribute with near-lethal force, but District 2's Tributes always had a flair for the dramatic. Marcus reached the stage and didn't bother with the stairs, instead pressing both palms onto the platform and vaulting his way up. The podium's microphone quivered from the tremors of Marcus' landing, and even Mallaam was caught off-guard and the boy marched up next to him and shook his hand.

"Ah…" Mallaam stammered, momentarily speechless, "Marcus Black, ladies and gentlemen!" The roar of the crowd once again overwhelmed all other sounds, and even the girls waiting for their chance to challenge for tributeship joined the ruckus. Compared to Anita, Marcus' powerful physical and musculature befitted a District 2 Tribute and showed extreme potential for success in the Arena, and his name being drawn boded well for the District's odds of victory.

Mallaam inquired about male volunteers, but only a few hands rose in comparison to the plethora stepping forward for the girls. The brave young men willing to challenge Marcus seemed to be, for the most part, as big as or bigger than he was, drawing gasps from the crowd as Marcus denied the right to step down from his position in order to let one of the Volunteers take his place. As the boys took their turns with the Peacekeepers, Mallaam collected the smaller bowl filled with the names of thirty-nine female volunteers and returned to the podium, setting the glass down and allowing the clink to reverberate through the microphone. He plucked a name and unfolded the slip of paper.

"Challenging Anita Winstoll for female tributeship of District 2," Mallaam called out, "Sumara Khan!"

Several sets of shoulders slumped around Sumara as the thirty-eight failed volunteers marched off, returning to their spots in the crowd and leaving her standing alone at the foot of the stairs leading up onto the stage. Blinking a few times, she took a deep breath and ran both hands through the short spikes of her pixie cut black hair before ascending the steps and striding over to stand beside Anita. Up close, the blonde looked even less intimidating, if such a thing was possible, and Sumara took a moment to crack each knuckle individually as she stared down her opponent.

"As the rules of the Reaping state," Mallaam bellowed, moving away from the microphone and stepping between the two girls, spreading them apart at an arm's length, "In the event of volunteering when no volunteering is wanted by the chosen Tribute, one volunteer will face the chosen Tribute in a contest of strength to determine which candidate is more worthy. In this instance, whichever of Anita or Sumara manages to dislodge the other from this stage will become the official female tribute for District 2."

Mallaam stepped back, holding both hands up as a sign of halting the girls' combined aggression. Anita flexed her fingers, nails sharpened into the claws of a jungle cat, unwilling to sacrifice that which she had rightfully claimed as her own. Sumara retaliated with gnashing of her teeth and the curling of his fingers into two rock-steady fists. Mallaam raised his arms, looked from Anita to Sumara and back again, and called out 'Go!'

Anita lunged first, swiping at her opponent with a distinct lack of grace or follow-through, making Sumara's work easy. The larger girl brought her leg up and smashed it into Anita's stomach, knocking the wind out of her and doubling her over. This allowed for Sumara to lunge and grab the blonde ponytail that hung free as a massive weak point in the battle. With one push, she slammed Anita face-first into the metal floor of the stage, breaking the girl's nose and leaving a blood stain as Sumara rolled her foe to the edge and kicked her off, into a cloud of dust. She raised her arms in triumph and smirked, chuckling a little as Anita groaned on the ground beneath her.

"Ladies and gentlemen! We now have our official female tribute, representing District 2 in the 72nd Annual Hunger Games! Sumara Khan!"

Sumara turned back and smirked at Marcus as the roar of applause washed over her from behind. Taking her spot to Mallaam's right, she watched as a pair of Peacekeepers escorted Anita away, one of them pushing her head up and pinching the brim of her nose to avoid blood staining the white of his uniform. She then stood silent as Mallaam repeated the volunteering ritual with the boys and she cheered with the crowd as Marcus unceremoniously dumped his opponent off the edge of the stage before being announced as the other official tribute for the district.

Marcus returned the earlier smirk as he reclaimed his spot opposite her on the stage, and together they raised their fists overhead triumphantly, earning the loudest swell of cheers yet. Before Mallaam could even continue his speech, both Sumara and Marcus approached one another and shook hands, first their left, then their right, with Marcus applying extra pressure to his grip each time.

"Well," laughed Mallaam, "District 2 never ceases to impress. Sumara Khan and Marcus Black! May the odds be ever in your favor!"

Still laughing, he gestured towards the doors on District 2's town hall, and both tributes moved obediently towards them, entering the building to the cheers of friends, foes, and family alike.


	2. District 7: Ash Maxwell

"Ash Maxwell!"

As her words floated across the tree-lined plaza of District 7, Jessilica Harksley took a moment to pinch the bridge of her nose, stifling a sneeze as the overwhelming aroma of pine needles harassed the remnants of her recently-plucked nose hairs. The jade veil hanging down from her fruit-laden hat did little to block the steady flow of tree pollen directly into her watering eyes and sensitive sinuses. All the more reason for haste, so she wiped her eyes clean and scanned the large cluster of young men to her left for the second Tribute she would be escorting to the Capitol.

Slowly but surely, the youths of District 7 located the Tribute in question: Ash Maxwell, located just to the left of center within the crowd. For a moment, it seemed as though he stood paralyzed with fear, the only motion from his body that of his chest rising and falling in slow breaths. But with a long expulsion of air from deep within his lungs, he gulped and nodded, walking towards the front of the crowd.

Moving through the crowd, Ash was hard to lose in the sea of bodies all around him, his shaggy brown hair standing out just slightly above the average height for most of the other boys around him. Whispers of his name hissed from voice to voice, mimicking the breeze whistling through the surround pine trees. As Ash walked, a hand would pat his shoulder or brush over his back, and in return, his own hand rested every so often on the occasional shoulder, offering a supportive squeeze that was as much to himself steady as it was to comfort them.

He forced a smile as he moved out into the open, away from the crowd where his forlorn expression could remain hidden. Two Peacekeepers flanked him immediately, moving him out of reach from the rest of the group and keeping the crowd at arms' length. Turning his head slightly, Ash scanned the faces of those on the edges of the mass, trying to keep their eyes on him the whole walk up to the stage. While the emotions were generally somber whenever a friend or classmate found him or herself chosen by the Reaping, Ash noticed a small population, about a dozen or so, with tears welling up; far more than had wept for Fiona Warder, the short, female Tribute who now stood to Jessilica's right.

Looking up towards the stage, Ash noticed Fiona peeking out at him, her green eyes concealed behind a wall of red hair, hiding her face and red, puffy cheeks. Her lips trembled as he approached the stage with his pair of guards, her fingers clutching and twisting at the hem of her shirt. For a moment, Ash hesitated, contemplating her fear while he had every reason to be afraid himself, and in that momentary hesitation, one of his dingy brown work boots kicked into the back of the other and made him stumble. He grabbed the nearer of the two Peacekeepers to try and maintain his balance, and was quickly yanked back by the other, jabbing him in the side with the butt of his rifle.

Hands up and palms out, Ash mumbled a quick placation before both Peacekeepers grabbed hold of his upper arms, controlling his movements to another such incident. They reached the stairs and released him from their grasp, and Ash offered them a forced nod of thanks before ascending the staircase to find himself assaulted by Jessilica's over-enthusiastic welcome. For a Capitol woman who, as far as he knew, never performed manual labor a day in her life, she had a surprisingly strong grip, her arm yanking his around in a frenzied handshake.

Up close and personal, Ash took a moment to evaluate the woman, whom prior to this moment he had only considered a brief intruder in his life, arriving once a year for the Reaping and vanishing and quickly as she came. He noted the extravagant emerald dress she wore, adorned with a series of gaudy gemstones, probably worth more than his family earned in a year. The veil she wore tinted her face green from his perspective, although that could hardly contain the blinding whiteness of her teeth from shining through, nor could it hide the generous slathering of mascara and eye shadow that granted her the appearance of a sickly raccoon. And of course, her ever-present wide-brimmed hat, buried under a stack of Macintosh apples, which seemed to weigh on her neck to the point of it becoming buried in her chest. Compared to his own plain, gray, button-down shirt and brown pants, Jessilica might as well have landed from the moon.

"Ash Maxwell!" Jessilica repeated as she reclaimed the podium, gesturing toward Ash with open arms and a wide, cheesy smile on her face.

A few in the crowd applauded, but quickly fell silent in tune with the overwhelming majority. Looking over into the assembled group of District 7's female population, Ash caught the eye of his girlfriend, Maya Rickardson, her long, raven hair, disheveled and hanging limp over her face as she bit into her wrist, trying not to stare at the stage. Looking up into her boyfriend's face, Maya's breath caught in her throat and she sputtered, coughing and trying to calm down. Ash's sister, Kalley, standing towards the front of the plaza with the other thirteen-year-olds, wept openly, wiping both tears and mucus on the sleeves of her dress.

The loud smack of flesh hitting flesh reached Ash's ears, and he turned back to the source to find Johanna Mason, the previous year's Victor, swinging her hands together at slow and awkward intervals. Her wrists moved fluidly as she applauded, a half-smirk crossing her mouth upon realizing that she'd gotten Ash's attention. However, a forceful clearing of the throat from Blight Kessler, the male Victor on-stage alongside Johanna, quieted her applause as she silently rolled her eyes.

"Now," Jessilica continued along with the annual ceremony's pre-planned events, "Are there any brave young men who would like to step forward and volunteer to take the place of this handsome boy?"

Ash's gaze darted back over to the male pool of potential tributes. He quickly located his younger brother, Natlan, biting his lip and sidestepping through the crowd to avoid detection. His height however, like Ash's, gave him away in comparison to the other fourteen-year-olds surround him. But Ash could hardly expect his younger brother to volunteer for him, and he knew that, instead peering back towards the eighteen-year-olds in the crowd, where his older brother, Carlin, stood silently. Tall and muscular, if oddsmakers were to look at District 7's boys to determine the most likely survivor of the arena, Carlin would easily rank high on their list. But today, he stared back at Ash and offered the subtlest shake of his head, eyes closed and mouth downturned. Reflexively, Ash's fingers coiled up into his fist and he began grinding his teeth, listening for any voice in the crowd willing to take his place.

"Anyone?" Jessilica queried, still smiling and arching her fuchsia eyebrows as if trying to entice someone to speak up, "Alright then, your loss! The official male tribute, representing District 7 in the 72nd Annual Hunger Games! Ash Maxwell!"

Once again, the only applause emanated from Johanna, who this time clapped the fingers of one hand against the palm of the other in rapid succession, her jaw straining to maintain the fake smile plastered across her face. Blight shook his head and sighed, while Jessilica, unaware of the lack of sincerity, simply smiled back at Johanna for her enthusiasm with regards to the proceedings. Ready to end the ceremony, Jessilica moved to the side and grabbed Fiona by the hand, dragging her closer to Ash so as to better appeal to the surrounding cameras.

"Go on," she beamed, "shake hands."

Ash looked down at the redheaded girl before him, barely taller than his little sister, and horrible thoughts raced through his head: viewing her as a victim, as a roadblock or impediment to his survival. He extended his hand, making the first move to try and buy himself some goodwill from the Capitol audience. He felt her pulse racing through the vein in her thumb as she accepted the handshake, trembling as their hands moved in unison. Once again, he pictured his sister and how he would react, having to watch her led off to slaughter, and he squeezed her hand gently. She looked up and he gulped, nodding slightly and offering the best reassuring smile he could muster. She blinked away tears and sniffled just once before returning the nod.

"Fiona Warder and Ash Maxwell," Jessilica's voice boomed over the audience, "may the odds be ever in your favor."

The handshake ended and both Fiona and Ash felt surprising power behind Jessilica's arms as she pushed against each of their backs and guided them into District 7's town hall.


	3. District 8: Grace Davinora

"Grace Davinora!"

Standing at the podium before the overwhelming majority of the teenaged population of District 8, Antonius Gadswell adjusted the pink carnation pinned to his powder blue suit jacket and scanned the young crowd for the year's female tribute. A large portion of District 8's population crammed themselves into the district's large, central plaza, the silence of the textile factories just a few streets away aiding in carrying the intensity of his words to their ears. The sea of young men and woman before Antonius remained still, stunned into silence; a few, whose anxiety had plagued their mind during the hours leading up to the Reaping, breathed sighs of relief. Their own safety ensured, hundreds of pairs of eyes began to search as Antonius did, for the unlucky girl who would soon fight for her life against tributes from all across Panem.

Slowly, a hole formed towards the back of the crowd, revealing a stunned Asian girl, one fist trembling and shaking the scuffed white cane clutched within. Her free hand stretched outward, fingertips brushing against the soft fabric of the blouse in front of her for just a moment, before the girl shied away, moving out of reach. With a sweeping motion, her arm reached out, trying to find someone to grab hold of for stability, but as her body rotated, desperate for some semblance of contact, those around her moved away, heads turned as though unwilling to meet her milky brown gaze.

"Ah!" Antonius' voice echoed once more, "There you are! Come come now, no need to be shy!"

"Please…p-please…someone help me..."

Grace's cane swung in the empty pocket of space all around her, connecting with nothing and nobody. Breaths fought their way savagely from her chest, seething through chattering teeth as the realization of her predicament finally began to sink in. A tear fell, staining the graying white fabric of her sundress, and she took a moment to wipe her eyes with her free, sleeveless arm, before steadying her cane firmly on the ground and moving towards the sound of the stage's speaker system.

Tentative steps scratched their way through the dirt of District 8's plaza, the red tip of her cane stained brown as it dragged its way through a slight dust cloud of recently vacated space. All around her, Grace heard the sound of footsteps, moving en masse to clear a path, perhaps out of kindness, or perhaps out of self-preservation, for fear of being viewed as interfering with the Reaping. As she reached the edge of the crowd, two strong sets of hands seized her by the upper arms, one taking a moment to wrench the cane out of her still-quivering hand, before marching her forward, to the stage. They deposited her at the base of the staircase leading up to the podium where, unseen to her, Antonius stood, smiling and beckoning to Grace to join him.

Her cane confiscated, Grace took a deep breath and slid the tip of her dusty white shoe forward, pressing it to the first step and dragging it upward until it emerged at the top. She repeated the process a second time, and a third, before feeling confident enough in her judgment of the distance to scale the staircase unabated.

"Come along."

Antonius' words, while surely meant as a form of encouragement, interrupted Grace's concentration and she misjudged her timing, stubbing her toe and stumbling up two steps to land on her knee on-stage. Her cheeks burned as her head remained hung low, unwilling to look towards to crowd, but to their credit, not a single laugh or titter reached Grace's ears.

"Are you alright?"

Antonius moved to Grace's side, offering his best look of concern and a hand to help her up, but neither gesture was useful to her. She rose to her feet of her own volition and managed to bump into his arm on the way up, only then alerted to his presence. Gasping, her fingers clutched at the blue silk of his jacket's sleeve a bit tighter than he was prepared for, eliciting a short, sharp cry as he nearly stumbled into the podium. _This_ drew some laughter from the crowd.

Prying Grace's hand loose and guiding her to the right side of the podium, Antonius took a moment to brush himself off and straighten out his suit and tie, slightly ruffled by the unexpected actions of the year's female tribute. Now on-stage, he, and the rest of Panem watching at home, had a moment to evaluate the girl.

At about average height and slightly below average weight, Grace didn't stand out from the crowd as having a particularly memorable physique; were it not for her obvious disability, she would hardly register as more than another cannon fodder tribute from District 8. Her dress reached several inches below her knees, exposing a small portion of her shins between the hem of her dress and the tops of her socks. Long, dark hair dangled between her shoulder blades, relatively well-maintained, but still featuring several stray hairs that seemed unwilling to lie flat within the rest of her style.

"Grace Davinora!" Antonius bellowed into the microphone one more, his volume causing the upturned cowlick of his indigo hair to shudder.

A few in the girls' section of the crowd offered polite applause, the boys too anxious to do so themselves. Seated at the back of the stage, Woof, the ancient victor representing District 8's glorious history of male tributes, clapped his hands towards earnestly, an unaware grin plastered to his face. In comparison, the subdued and almost inaudible applause of Cecelia Coteau seemed almost out-of-place, considering that, should no volunteers arise, she would be mentoring Grace in her efforts to survive the year's arena.

"Now," Antonius continued his yearly speech, "Are there any brave young women who would like to step forward and volunteer to take the place of this lovely girl?"

Grace stared out over the crowd, listening for any sound of aid; even a cough or the clearing of a throat would've been welcome. Several girls bowed their heads; others turned away, not wanting to meet those unseeing eyes; no voices rose to volunteer for the district's ultimate sacrifice.

"Anyone?" Antonius' voice carried an odd sense of surprise, given the reluctance outer districts generally showed towards volunteering, "Alright then. We now have our official female tribute, representing District 8 in the 72nd Annual Hunger Games! Grace Davinora!"

The original smattering of applause Grace had received didn't rise up again at the second utterance of her name. Frowning somewhat at District 8's unwillingness to celebrate, Antonius moved back towards the table between Woof and Cecelia's seats, and inserted his hand into the large bowl of light blue slips of paper. Fishing around, his fingers closed around a slip and withdrew it from the bowl before returning to the podium. He flashed Grace a quick smile as he strode past, though the gesture was lost on her.

"For the boys," Antonius spoke into the microphone as he unfolded the slip in his hand, "Carter Lewiston!"

Grace could hear murmuring to her left: the boys' side of the crowd, as they tried to identify the young man within their ranks who would soon take the long walk towards the stage as she had done. Amidst the clamor of secured voices, the sound of footsteps, shuffling forward from the center of the crowd, reached her ears. These footsteps were joined by two other pairs as Carter, flanked by the same peacekeepers that had seen fit to confiscate Grace's cane, guided him to the stage. He climbed the stairs on his own, however, with no support offered by Antonius, and crossed by Grace to stand to the left of the podium.

Once again, Antonius announced Carter's name, and once again, the call for volunteers was met by silence. And so District 8's Reaping came to a close, the year's two tributes chosen: Grace Davinora and Carter Lewiston.

"Go on," Antonius ordered, excitedly, "shake hands."

Carter extended one hand for a few awkward seconds as Grace's left hand fumbled around in the air, trying to find its target. Clearing his throat, Carter moved forward and took the initiative, catching her flailing palm in his and squeezing just enough to calm her down. He stared into her eyes, unnerved as she stared straight back without the slightest hint of recognition, and finally, the handshake was over.

"Grace Davinora and Carter Lewiston," Antonius bowed as he concluded his role in the ceremony, "May the odds be ever in your favor!"

He bid a fond farewell to the crowd and looped one arm around both Grace and Carter, guiding them into District 8's town hall.


	4. Ash: Goodbyes

Having separated from Fiona after a long march through the corridors of District 7's town hall, Ash's Peacekeeper escort deposited him in a stuffy, isolated parlor, cluttered to bursting with various knickknacks. Mounted plaques near the ceiling held the lifeless heads of an almost frivolous amount of rabbits, squirrels and chipmunks that seemed to defy that Capitol's "No Hunting" decree amongst the outlying districts. Dozens upon dozens of beady, glass eyes glared down at the boy, their open mouths and buck teeth screaming out in unison and calling for his head to join theirs as yet another victim of District 7.

Shuddering, Ash turned his gaze downward and pace around the room, extending his arm and letting his fingertips brush over the fine layer of dust coating the solid mahogany bookshelves that lined the room. The sheer quantity of books overwhelmed the boy: textbooks, biographies, ancient classics from before the war that destroyed District 13. These texts decorated fill the shelves from wall-to-wall, the dust spreading from polished wood to leather bound covers and slightly obscuring the repetition of titles spaced out across the room to make it seem as though there more books available than the reality.

Ash finally took a seat at the large desk centered at the back wall of the room, and slanted to one side on a wobbly chair leg. Most of the furniture had been carved by various elected officials over the years, and some possessed more skills than others, as evidenced by the lopsided chair and the trapezoidal desk that any professional woodworker would find fault with. Gripping the seat, Ash attempted to even out the legs by sheer force of impact with the ground, but the faulty furniture showed surprising durability in the wake of the boy's efforts. Rising to his feet, Ash grunted and kicked at the back of the chair, sending it sprawling to the floor with a wooden clunk. Clutching his forehead, Ash groaned and rubbed at his temples, trying to alleviate the growing pressure building behind his skull.

A key turned in the lock and Ash looked up as the door opened and Kalley, Natlan, and his mother, Emelia, burst into the room. Almost immediately, Ash found himself smothered with affection; a series of hugs and kisses giving him little opportunity to get a word in edgewise towards his family. Kalley clutched at his shirt and stained the gray fabric with loud tears, and a slight trail of snot as she shook her head from side to side, unwilling to accept her brother's fate. The long, brown braid Emelia had so carefully woven before the Reaping now dangled undone around Kalley's shoulders, and even her freshly-laundered blue dress found itself stained with dirt and sorrow from the plaza.

To the side, Natlan glommed weakly onto his brother's arm, sniffling and crying, but not quite so much as Kalley. For Natlan, his face pressed into Ash's sleeve and hid the look of shame and guilt that crossed the furrow in his brow and the grimace across his mouth. His own shirt, a gray hand-me-down from Carlin that he hadn't fully grown into yet, hung untucked from the waistband of his pants on one side. Looking up just briefly, his scruffy, dark brown hair hid his eyes from his brother as they shimmered on the brink of tears.

Behind Ash, Emelia Maxwell's arms extended around her three children, pulling them close as though she would lose all three if she were to let go. Wisps of gray amidst her otherwise brown tresses carried the stress of aging and raising her large family on her own, and the amount of gray would most certainly increase in the coming weeks, with Ash's fate hanging in the balance. Her face pressed into her son's back, right between his shoulder blades, and tears leapt from her eyes every few moments, hitting the fabric of his shirt and that of her own, pale gray dress.

Enveloped in his family, Ash's emotions overwhelmed him and he squeezed out a few tears of his own while maintaining his composure as best he could. Catching his breath before his sadness claimed him and pushed him to the point of no return, he managed to stroke Kalley's hair and kiss her forehead before lightly pushing his siblings and mother away, brushing himself off and taking a deep breath before addressing them.

"Where's…" he inquired, "where's Carlin?"

"He said," Emelia sniffled, "he would see you later. He wanted to speak with you alone. And he had to get something for you from the house."

"Aaaaash!" Kalley cried, once again forcing herself into her big brother's arms, sobbing against him, "Don't go! Don't let them take you away!"

"I…" he stammered, wrapping one arm around her and rubbing her back "I…I don't have a choice, Kal. You know I don't want to go to the Capitol. Not now, not ever. But this is just…this is just how things are."

"I shoulda volunteered!" Natlan choked out, "I…I shoulda gone up there for you, Ash! I'm…I'm sorry. I shoulda-"

"Hey," Ash interrupted him, "don't say that, okay? You couldn't have done anything about this. And let's be honest…I…I wouldn't have, have let you volunteer for me. I woulda kicked your ass off the stage like in one of the Career districts."

"But, but I shoulda done something. I just stood there. I just, I just stood there, Ash."

"Nat," Ash sighed, pausing momentarily to shush Kalley reassuringly, "it's not your fault, okay? I just…I need you and Kalley and Carlin to be strong because if I know you guys are rooting for me, I've gotta make it home, right? I just…I need you guys to be strong for me, and I'll make it back. I promise."

"Ash…" Natlan finally broke down and sobbed, hugging at his brother and sister, "you can't die…you can't let them beat you. You just can't!"

"I'm gonna do anything I can, Nat, I swear."

"Ash," Emelia whispered, "honey, is there anything you need us to do for you? While you're…away?"

"I…I don't know. I mean, I just…I don't know. Maybe, like, if you get the chance, check in on, check in on Maya for me? Make sure she's okay? And…make sure the family sticks together, no matter what happens to me. Just…you've got Carlin and he's not gonna be in the Reaping anymore, so you won't need to worry about ever losing…about him ever not being there. I'm gonna come back…I promise. So just, just keep everything going like normal, okay? Keep the fire warm for me when I get back, okay? Please, mom. Just do that for me. Please."

"Ash," Emelia embraced her son, stroking the back of his head, "you're brave…and you're strong. I believe in you. I've always believed in you, honey. You're strong. You're going to make it. I believe in you. I'll keep the family going for you. I promise…we'll be waiting for you. So you just, you stay focused on staying alive…don't worry about us. We'll worry enough as it is."

Ash sniffled and allowed several more tears to fall, tingeing his mother's dress as she squeezed his in a bear hug powerful enough to make his ribs ache. Kalley refused to stay silent, wailing her brother's name again and again and again, muffled by his shirt, and Ash closed his eyes, picturing her name being drawn and her stammering as she climbed on-stage in front of the entire district, with no one around to comfort her. "It's okay," he whispered, trying to force the image out of his head, only to be replaced by a similar scene of Natlan, looking out into the crowd where Ash would've stood were he around.

His eyes clenched shut and he shook his head, scattering the unwanted thoughts and focusing on the moment, his family once again holding him in their arms and keeping him safe, one last time. The door opened again and a gruff Peacekeeper announced that their time was up, barging into the room and forcefully separating the family when both Kalley and Natlan refused to release their brother. The Peacekeeper pushed them from the room as Emelia urged him to be gentle, and she took one last moment to turn back and blow her son a kiss through the closing door. It would possibly be the last time Ash would see any of them again, and as he retook a seat in his unstable chair, he doubled over, cupping his face in his hands and uttering several sorrowful gasps and a groan of anguish.

A minute passed before the door unlocked again and Ash looked up to see Maya in the doorway, her cheeks red and swollen and her lips quivering as she laid eyes on him. She coughed out his name, one syllable enough to bring Ash to his feet as he crossed the room and threw his arms around her. Lowering his head, he brushed a handful of black hairs from her face and pressed his lips against hers, tasting the pine needle tea she tended to drink still lingering on her breath from the morning's breakfast. Their noses pressed together and his tears mixed with hers as her fingers dug into his chest, clutching at the gray fabric of his shirt; Ash's arms pulled her closer, cradling her warm body against his own.

"Ash," Maya gasped, breaking the kiss before immediately planting another on his upper lip, "I…I love you."

"I…I love you too, Maya."

"You can't die, Ash. I won't let you. You have to win. You have to."

"I know…" he panted, locking lips once again for just a moment, "I know, Maya…I don't want to leave you. I don't ever want to leave you, Maya."

"It's not fair, Ash…it's not fair. Why can't someone else…why didn't someone else volunteer to take your place?"

"I…I don't know," Ash stammered, staring into his girlfriend's shimmering brown eyes and losing himself, pushing in for another kiss.

"Ash…" Maya trembled, breaking the kiss, her whole body shaking in Ash's arms as she leaned on him for support, "no matter what…no matter what it takes…you have to win. If, if you have to k-kill someone to survive…then do it. Please, Ash, I-I…I just want you to come home, baby."

"I will…I swear Maya…I'll do anything to come back to you."

Maya nodded frantically, eyes darting towards the door, unsure of how long she would have to spend with her boyfriend. She raised her hands to her neck and reached back, unclasping a small, silver chain that hung down over her chest, a lacquered wooden ring hanging at the end of it. She forced the chain into Ash's hand and closed his fingers around it, cupping both hands around his fist.

"This belonged to my grandmother. It's, it's made of birch and oak bark, intertwined. I want you...to hold onto it, and wear it when you're in the arena, so, so that you can think of me and think of me to get you through it, okay? Just wear it and remember that I'm waiting for you and I'm praying for you, okay? Okay, baby?"

Ash nodded and clasped the chain around his neck, tucking the ring into his shirt before cupping Maya's face in both hands and giving her one last kiss as the same Peacekeeper from before pushed open the door and ordered Maya to leave as her time was up. Maya gulped and nodded, sniffling and wiping her eyes as she slowly moved towards the door, holding Ash's hand until their fingertips finally separated due to the distance between them. She waved goodbye over the Peacekeeper's shoulder and turned, crying as she hurried through the door to avoid dragging out their farewells.

After that, a few of Ash's friends arrived in a group, all of them wishing him luck and hugs (although none of the boys offered any sort of apology for staying silent at the call for volunteers), and they too, like his family and Maya before them, left when their time expired. Ash sat, tapping his foot and shaking his chair as he waited for one last visitor: the one he needed to speak with the most. And as the door unlocked, Ash looked up to see his older brother enter the room.

Carlin didn't hug him like the others had done; he walked over and set a wooden case on the floor by Ash's side, and sat down beside his brother, looking oddly at the chair, planting his feet firmly on the ground in an attempt to stabilize it. He looked up at Ash, his short hair slightly mussed and the front of his shirt soaked in sweat from the neck down to the center of his chest. His breathing still came out in long gasps in spite of his otherwise calm composure, and his face glowed red with exhaustion.

"Sorry I'm late," Carlin said, pointing at the case, "I had to get back to the house and grab that for you. Before you left."

"Thanks…" Ash droned, not acknowledging the gift, "I'm glad you could make it."

"What's wrong? I mean…you know what I mean, right?"

"Car, man, why…why didn't you volunteer?"

"Me? I, well I, you know I, I couldn't do that, right Ash? I mean, I'm eighteen…this was my last year in the Reaping."

"So what? You're bigger than I am. Stronger. If anyone in our family had a shot at winning the Games…it was you. I just, you're supposed to watch out for me…for Natlan and Kalley too, but for me, man."

"I am watching out for you. I'm watching out for the whole family, Ash. Dad's dead, been dead for a while. You think Mom's gonna be able to feed four people by herself? Hell, she barely scrapes by as it is, because you and me help out."

"So I could still help out!"

"What if it happens again? What if I volunteered? Went to the arena? Didn't come home? Then your name comes out of the jar again? What then?"

"I don't-"

"I can provide, Ash. I can work in the forest. Put food on the table. I'm old enough. They need me at home now, Ash. I'm sorry I didn't step up, but I couldn't. I couldn't."

"You weren't thinking about that…"

"What does it matter what I was thinking about? You want me to say I was scared? 'Cause fine, I was scared. I don't wanna be a Tribute just as much as you don't. But I didn't volunteer, and nothing's gonna change that, no matter how mad you are at me. I'm sorry if you're angry, but I just…I was scared, and I knew Mom needed me at home. Now if you wanna keep being an ass right now, spend this time fighting with me, you go right ahead. But personally, I don't want that. I don't want to fight with my little brother right before he goes to the Capitol and I might never see him again."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"Hey, I'm just tellin' it like it is. Twenty-four people go into the Arena. One comes out. Odds aren't in your favor, no matter what Jessilica says. I mean, I'd pick you in a fight against Fiona…but that's still twenty-two people you've gotta beat."

"Why are you even telling me this? Why did you bother coming to visit me?"

"Hey. You copped attitude with me first, baby brother. Don't expect me to go easy on you after that. And I told you why I'm here. To bring you this."

Carlin reached down and picked up the case once more, popping the clasps and lifting the lid to reveal a slightly tarnished wooden fiddle. The body had a small chip on one side and the edges all showed signs of age and wear, as the instrument hadn't received a new coat of varnish since its creation. The strings stuck out from the neck, leaving extra slack in the event of retuning or damage, and the bow showed similar strain, several hairs jutting out from the otherwise taut and rigid bowstring.

"I figured you might want it," Carlin sighed, "you were always better playing it than I was…plus I figure it's a way to remember us back home. Remember Dad, you know?"

"Carlin, I…I can't take this. What if I break it? What if something happens to it?"

"Please, that thing can take some serious abuse and we both know it. You whacked me in the head with that thing when you were little and all it got was that little chip right there."

"Yeah…yeah, sorry about that."

"You're gonna apologize after all this time? Jeez, anything else you wanna get off your chest before you die?"

"Asshole."

"Whatever," Carlin forced a laugh, "I don't want you to die."

"That's reassuring."

"Hey, I don't. You think I wanna deal with Nat and Kal sobbing for a year before they freak out about the Reaping again? I want you to make it home, little brother. You gotta do what it takes to win, and I mean whatever it takes. No time for morals or any sappy shit like that. You just gotta win."

"You make it sound so easy…"

"Hey, just go with your strengths. You've got a ton of friends…you're great with people. Make alliances with the other players. Stick with them. Because you know there's always that one group every year that just rips the Games to shreds. And maybe you could take out one…two if you're lucky. But you're not gonna beat the Careers flyin' solo. You gotta find one or two people you can trust and you've just gotta stick with them until you can't anymore. You got me?"

"How do I know if I can trust anyone? Everyone else'll be playing to win like me."

"You've just gotta do your best and choose wisely, little brother. And remember, we're District 7, so get your hands on an axe as soon as possible. That's your weapon of choice, you hear me? Having something you know how to use…that'll give you an advantage, and you need any advantage you can get in there."

"Carlin…" Ash stammered, "thank you. I'm, I'm sorry for getting mad about…you know."

"Don't worry about that. Better you get all that out now than letting it boil over in the Arena…make you lose your focus. You got nothin' to apologize for."

"You just…you make sure Mom and Kalley and Natlan are okay without me around. You'd better not let anything happen to them, 'cause I'll find out."

"Don't worry, I've got it covered. And if any of the guys from school try to make a move on Maya, I'll kick their asses."

"Thanks," Ash whispered, leaning over and hugging his brother.

"Don't mention it, little brother," Carlin whispered back, patting Ash's back as they embraced, "you just make sure you remember what I told you…and you come home, alright?"

"I will…I, I promise I will."

They broke the embrace and sat there in silence for several minutes before the Peacekeeper returned yet again to escort Carlin away. Stopping to give one last hug, Carlin closed the fiddle case and pressed it into Ash's arms. He gave a half-smile and turned away, walking to the door and wiping his eyes, and vanished into the hallway, the door locking closed behind him. Ash gripped the case tightly, his fingertips tracing the etched, black outline of a willow tree on its lid, and he returned to his seat, waiting for the next step in his journey.

"Hello again, Mister Maxwell!" Jessilica's voice hammered his eardrums as she shouted her greeting far beyond an acceptable volume, barging into the room, "Affairs in order? Say your goodbyes?"

"Yeah…"

"Wonderful! You know what they say…once you see the Capitol, you'll never want to go home. What do you have there?"

"It's a fiddle…it belonged to my Dad."

"Oh…well…I suppose that's…acceptable. You won't be…playing it on the train, will you?"

"I wouldn't dream of it."

"Splendid! Then we should have a pleasant trip. Come along, come along. The Capitol awaits you, Mister Maxwell!"

The pair collected Fiona, whose eyes showed far more fatigue and puffiness than Ash's, and together, the three of them traveled down a back staircase and through the back entrance of the town hall building, where a car idled in wait. Cramming into the backseat, with Jessilica separating the two Tributes, Ash rested his forehead on the window and did his best to drone out the escort as she prattled on in praise of the Capitol's living conditions. The car reached District 7's meager train station, where the only train each year not used for transporting lumber billowed smoke, ready to travel. Fiona boarded first as Jessilica's behest, and with one final look at his home district, Ash climbed onboard as well.


	5. Grace: Goodbyes

Sitting amongst a pile of embroidered throw pillows whose words her fingertips could trace, yet she could not quite read, Grace leaned back and found herself cradled in the plush upholstery of a loveseat. After leaving Carter in a room of his own, Antonius had walked Grace to her current quarters and had personally helped her to her seat, showing a patronizing level of tone in his voice as he asked if she was comfortable. Not wanting to ruffle the feathers of her escort, she'd nodded silently, and he left to attend to whatever preparations he still needed to complete before the Tribute train to the Capitol would depart.

The quiet emptiness of the room Grace had been deposited in washed over her, enveloping the young girl in an unfamiliar darkness. Straining for outside stimulus, Grace listened for the muffled metallic clanging of textile factories that she'd grown accustomed to near her home, creeping through the walls and giving her a sense of commonplace, and paradoxically, a sense of peace. But these noises, perhaps audible outside the town hall, were drowned out by the overwhelming silence of the prison in which she now resided. Only her own breathing and the ominous ticking of a clock somewhere overhead on the opposite wall persisted, the two sounds synchronizing. Tick, breathe in. Tock, breathe out. Tick, breathe in. Tock, breathe out.

The click of a key turning in the lock snapped Grace out of her trance, and she coughed as her breath fell out of its rhythm. She rose to her feet, sputtering slightly as she ran her palms over the front and back of her dress in an effort to flatten out any unwanted wrinkles she'd accumulated since preparing for the Reaping ceremony earlier in the morning. The door creaked open yet Grace remained still, the backs of her legs pressed against the loveseat's cushions to maintain her balance and position within the room.

"Gracie!"

A rush of wind reached Grace, moments before the forceful arms of her mother hooked behind her back and pulled her into a frantic embrace. Aya Davinora buried her face in Grace's neck, tears burning her daughter's skin as hot; exhaled sobs pushing down on the fabric covering the girl's shoulder. Caught off guard initially by the unexpected display of affection, Grace eventually moved her arms behind Aya's back and pressed her palms between her mother's shoulder blades, strengthening the hug. Grace's nostrils flared as she inhaled her mother's scent, the smell of soap and the morning's damp laundry overwhelming her with thoughts of a home she would likely never see again. Finally, the reality of the situation clicked into place within her mind.

Grace's legs buckled, almost knocking her mother to the floor as she unexpectedly struggled to support the relatively light weight of her daughter's petit frame. Grace clutched at her mother's back, grabbing handfuls of stiff fabric as gravity dragged her down, and she clenched her pale eyes shut as tears began to well up and fall to the floor. She wept openly, the Capitol, Antonius, the Peacekeepers, and everything else about the Hunger Games far from the forefront of her mind. Loud sobs howled from deep within her chest, only to be muffled by the light blue fabric pushing back against her face.

"Momma…" Grace gasped, "I don't wanna go!"

"I know Gracie," Aya sobbed in response, "I know. It's not fair. It's just not…they can't just take you away like this!"

"Th-They're gonna kill me, Momma!"

"Don't say that! Don't say it and don't think it! You're going to win! You're going to win just like that girl last year that no one thought could do it. I don't know how, I don't…you'll just do it somehow!"

"It's okay," Ryoga Davinora interjected, standing stoically by the door and allowing his wife to have her moment first, "It's going to be okay, Grace."

"Daddy…"Grace whimpered, turning towards the sound of his voice.

"Calm down, Grace," he spoke calmly as he strode across the room, wrapped his lean yet strong arms around both his wife and daughter, "you have to be strong now. Now more than ever."

"Daddy, I-"

"Please, Grace. Just listen. I know…that you're scared. This…this isn't fair, like your mother says. And it's okay to be scared. That's how you know you're you. I'd be worried if you were like those kids from District 1 or 2, fighting each other for this. And God knows I would do anything imaginable to keep you safe," his voice cracked, but he continued, "I would give up everything, sacrifice myself to keep you out of the Arena. But…I can't. I can't protect you now, Grace, no matter how much it hurts me to stand here, powerless. It's up to you, Grace. You have to protect yourself."

"I can't," she hiccupped, "Daddy, I can't fight like, like those others. I couldn't even, I-I, I couldn't even get up to the stage on my own."

"Don't think that way, Grace," Ryoga coughed, gritting his teeth as he fought back tears, "you can fight. You can, and you have to believe that you can. No matter what, even if you have to kill-"

"She's not a murderer!" Aya wept in Grace's ear, shaking her head in denial, "Our daughter…our daughter isn't a murderer."

"It isn't about…murder," his stern voice waivered, "it's about survival. Grace, you're a survivor. Your whole life, you've been a survivor. You're our miracle, Grace. You survived when everyone wrote you off. This, this is nothing for you. It's just another obstacle you have to overcome."

"How, Daddy? How am I supposed to survive in the Arena? Everyone else is going to have a leg up on me right off the bat. Everyone."

"I, I don't know, Grace. I don't know. But you can't just give up without trying. You can't give up before you even know what you're up against. You never give up, Grace. Not once in your life. You've never let you…condition get in your way. Never. You just have to try, Grace. Somehow, just try."

"Please Gracie," her mother parroted, "please don't give up. Listen to your father and don't give up."

"Now," her father ordered, "no more tears. Those people in the Capitol, the…bastards betting or putting up Sponsor money…they already think someone like you has no chance. And if they see you crying, they see those tears and there's going to be no changing their minds. That first impression will be the only impression you get, Grace. I know it's hard. I know, Grace, I know. But please, Grace, you have to be strong. I need you to be strong."

Thick, calloused fingers reached up and dabbed at the corners of Grace's eyes, tracing along the eyelids and wiping away excess tears clinging to her lashes. Stammering breaths rose from her chest, interspersed with terse sobs as Aya rubbed her back in slow, soothing circles. Her sadness lessened into mere sniffling, and her father cradled her reddened cheeks in his rough palms, lifting her head up to face him before resting a gentle kiss on her forehead.

"I love you, Grace," Ryoga whispered, one hand tenderly stroking her braid behind her back.

"I love you too, Gracie," Aya choked out, one arm now gripping her husband's shoulder for support.

"I…" Grace stuttered, "I love you both. I love you both so much."

As the family embraced, Grace did her best to gather all the memories she could from the meeting; the scent of tobacco emanating from her father's clothes; the lilting pitch to her mother's voice as she hiccupped through tears; the feel of miniscule scars covering their bare arms from years of textile factory work. The moment ended abruptly as a Peacekeeper barged in, intruding on the peace and quiet of the family's final moments together. He announced that their time was up, and when neither parent made a conscious effort to abide by this decree, he forcefully separated them, ushering Ryoga and a very distraught Aya from the room.

"I love you, Gracie!" Aya cried out, arm stretching beyond the Peacekeeper, reaching for her daughter.

"Momma!" Grace called back, the voice already fading into the distance of her perpetual darkness, "Daddy!"

"Be strong, Grace!" Ryoga urged, "Be strong! I-"

The door slammed shut and locked, Grace once again enveloped in the darkened silence of the town hall waiting room. She bit back a cry for her parents and wiped away new tears streaming down her cheeks, remembering the command of her father to be strong and survive. She shuffled back carefully, shoes scuffing against the coarse carpeting covering the floor, and allowed the backs of her legs to find the cushion of the loveseat once again. She bent down, fingertips brushing over the velvet to gauge the distance, and braced her palms on the stiff fabric, lowering herself down to take a seat.

Grabbing a throw pillow and setting it in her lap, Grace folded her hands over the stitching, rubbing her index and middle fingers over the lettering in an attempt to figure out what words were written; however the trembling of her hands made this task increasingly more difficult. Her neck twisted and trained in one the direction of the door, intent on listening for footsteps or any other sign of life to reassure her in her solitude. The clock kept ticking and Grace counted the seconds, reaching one hundred before starting over from one. After exactly three hundred seventeen ticks and three hundred sixteen tocks, the door clicked open once more, ushering in another set of visitors.

Maxon Linnell pushed past the Peacekeeper, crossing the room and joining Grace on the loveseat before she had a chance to rise in greeting. He wrapped one arm around her shoulders and gave a friendly, reassuring squeeze, offering a smile before realizing the futility of the gesture, and instead rubbing her shoulder. Edging her way into the room, Gabrielle Raleigh waited by the door, her teeth clenched together and grinding back and forth as she glanced over at her friend, noting the puffy redness of her cheeks. Guilty footsteps echoed in her ears as she walked over, sitting on the armrest beside Maxon and keeping him between herself and Grace.

"Max…" Grace whispered, "Gabby…you both came."

"How'd you know it was us?" Maxon asked, his lips moving faster than his mind could stop him, "I mean, you couldn't see us come in, could you? Uh, I mean-"

"I know what you meant. And I knew it was you because you smell, Max."

"What? I do not smell!"

"You do. Your mom dyes all those clothes in your basement and the bleach she uses kinda floats around in the air and sticks to your clothes. I can smell you coming from a mile away."

"That's-" Maxon argued, lifting his arm and inhaling the scent of his sleeve, "okay, yeah, that's true."

"And Gabby always grinds her teeth when she's nervous, and she doesn't realize how loud it sounds when she does that."

"I guess," Gabrielle trailed off, still focusing more on Maxon than on Grace.

"Gabby? What's, what's wrong?"

"Nothing. Nothing, Grace, it's just…Grace, I, I'm sorry."

"Sorry? For what?"

"I, I should've volunteered. I should've stepped up for you. Everyone in the crowd…when they called your name, like, everyone just backed off and I, I did too. I, I left you there, abandoned you, Gracie. I sh-should've stepped up when those Peacekeepers took your cane away. I should've done something. But, I-I, I was scared, Gracie. I, I d-didn't want to go to the Capitol. I don't want to die, Gracie, but you don't either and I should've, I should've helped you because you're my friend and I didn't do anything…I-I just stood there and watched it all happen. And I'm just so, so sorry, Gracie. I'm s-sorry, p-please forgive me, Gracie, please."

"Gabby," Grace paused, still absorbing her friend's plea, "I…I don't know what to say. I mean, you don't have to apologize for anything. I was shocked when I was picked, but I never expected anyone to volunteer for me, so I just…it wasn't a big deal is all."

"Yeah Gabby, "Maxon chimed in, "we've all been to enough Reapings to know that people don't just…volunteer for each other. Not here anyway. You shouldn't feel bad about that."

"But I do!" Gabrielle cried, "I do feel bad. I feel awful about everything! Grace, you shouldn't have to go. It should be me, not you."

"Gabby…" Grace stammered, swallowing and trying to maintain her composure, "I forgive you, okay? It's not, it's not the end of…of the world…I guess…"

"Gracie," Gabrielle gasped, fumbling with the clasp of the bracelet on her left wrist, "I want you to take this!"

"What?"

"My bracelet. Take my bracelet. It's got like, charms and stuff so you can feel them and remember District 8 when you're off in the Capitol…or the Arena. You just hold onto it, okay? You can give it back if…when you come home."

Gabrielle secured the bracelet around Grace's wrist and pulled her into a hug, sandwiching Maxon between the two of them. He joined in as best he could, with his arms flailing about, but the effort was appreciated. Pulling away, Grace's hands reached up and found Maxon's face in front of her, her fingers tracing over his features and nearly poking him in the eye several times before situating themselves on either side of his mouth.

"What're you-"

Grace cut him off, darting in and pecking him on the lips, just once, just for a moment, before leaning back and clearing her throat.

"I just um," she coughed again, "I…if I'm gonna die…I don't want to die, you know, never having…kissed a boy before. So, um, thank you."

"Don't mention it," Maxon shivered a little as he spoke, "really."

"And um, if you still feel guilty, Gabby, I guess we're even now, huh?"

"I guess," Gabrielle stared at both Grace and Maxon, her eyes darting back and forth, stunned, "I mean, yeah, we are. Sure."

"Do you…still want me to have your bracelet?"

"Of course I do! It's fine, just fine. Don't worry about it, Gracie…I know…that, didn't mean anything."

"Right," Grace stated, nodding, "so we're all good. Affairs in order? Do me a favor and…just, make sure my parents are okay. They, they're worried and I just…I want them to know they're not alone."

"I will," Maxon responded, "we both will. And we'll be cheering for you every day."

"Yeah," Gabrielle agreed, "You can count on us, Gracie. We're with you all the way."

The Peacekeeper returned and Grace's friends said their final goodbyes, waving before Gabrielle realized the foolishness and stayed her own and Maxon's hands. Once again, Grace sat in the silence of the waiting room, alone and waiting for visitors, but no more were to come. The ticking of the clock passed ten minutes with nary a peep from the outside world, and Grace pondered whether or not being forgotten would be a bad thing in her position. She started to hum to calm her nerves, growing antsy in the darkness, and soon that humming blossomed into lyrics as she sang the song her mother taught her as her namesake.

"_Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me. I once was lost but now am found, was blind, but now I see._

_T'was Grace that taught my heart to fear. And Grace, my fears relieved. How precious did that Grace appear the hour first believed._

_Through many dangers, toils and snares I have already come; 'tis Grace that brought me safe thus far and Grace will lead me home._

_The Lord has promised good to me. His word my hope secures. He will my shield and portion be, as long as life endures._

_Yea, when this flesh and heart shall fail, and mortal life shall cease, I shall possess within the veil, a life of joy and peace._

_When we've been here ten thousand years bright shining as the sun. We've no less days to sing God's praise than when we've first begun."_

"Brilliant!" Antonius' effeminate voice exclaimed from the doorway, having entered around the fourth verse, "Amazing! Stupendous! Marvelous, even! You have a beautiful voice, Miss Davinora. I could simply listen to it all day, but alas I cannot because we're slightly behind schedule."

His footsteps scurried across the carpet and Grace, still somewhat blushing from the overabundance of praise, found her wrists constrained in two eerily soft hands, pulling her to her feet. One arm hooked around her elbow and guided her to the door, where Carter waited outside under the watchful eye of Grace's Peacekeeper guard. Antonius gathered Carter as well, the boy staring at Grace in slight awe, having heard her song as well, and together the trio moved through the building's hallways to a backdoor, where a car and driver awaited them. Antonius opened the door in a gentlemanly fashion and helped Grace step up into the vehicle, and then moved around to the other side, clamoring in beside her while Carter sat by the secondary window.

The roads of District 8 were suitable for walking, but cars or bicycles couldn't easily handle the terrain, and thus the ride jostled the two Tributes around to the point of both Grace and Carter ordering the driver to stop and pull over. They then spilled out onto the side of the road and both lost the contents of their morning meals, eliciting a gag of disgust from Antonius as well. Somewhat relieved, however, the pair reclaimed their seats and the car continued its journey to the District 8 tram station, where a Capitol train belched smoke, waiting for its passengers. With Antonius keeping a tight grip on her arm, Grace made her way from one transport to the other, and lifted her foot from the ground of District 8 for potentially the last time, climbing onboard the train.


End file.
